


Confines of Reality

by WincestSounds (Cammerel)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Car Sex, Carsexual, Deapala, Dimpala, Explicit Sexual Content, Feels, Impala Fic, Impala Sex, Impean, Inanimate Object Porn, Incest, Kink Exploration, M/M, Masturbation, Mechaphilia, Non-Human Impala, Other, Outdoor Sex, Threesome - M/M/C, Top!Sam, Wincest - Freeform, Yes that means he's going to fuck his CAR, cargo ship, like it'll probably hurt a lot, this is actually a pretty serious fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-17
Updated: 2013-04-22
Packaged: 2017-12-05 15:06:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/724666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cammerel/pseuds/WincestSounds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean normally kept this side of himself very private. It wasn't a badge he wore with pride, and sometimes he couldn't completely hide it, calling to her on reflex, touching her; Sam saw just slivers of Dean's affection for his car, of things toned down to the barest minimum. Normally, he kept it locked away for just himself and her. Never around Sam, even though they knew practically everything about each other, Dean never told his brother about this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Dean gets caught doing something he probably shouldn't, but he's going to be surprised with just how accepting of it all Sam can be.

It was sweltering outside of Bobby's house, the older man currently out on a case and Sam set up inside doing research on a few more possibles, watching out for news reports and reading whatever ancient text he'd gotten his hands onto this time.

It left Dean in a sense of peace, which wasn't something he normally got, as he put his baby back together. His poor Impala was still stripped down to the bones, and this was **four days** into trying to repair her. She was currently naked and torn up from one end to the other as he worked on the innards of her dash, carefully fixing burnt out wires and the busted frame of her highness's inside walls.

It was the basic, first-start grueling work like this that he enjoyed the most, times when he got to remind himself that he couldn't get rusty with knowledge like this, it was like riding a bike some times, coming home to a place he understood, studying the familiarity of his car.

Dean had been laid out on the front, driver's side floorboard, nearly all afternoon, his legs stretched out through her body. The front seats were ripped from their spots and set up in the garage as he tinkered and twisted under her steering wheel.

She'd never been through _this_ much before, the outside of her, sure, but not the inside, never the inside. Not once had he ever gotten the chance to wander so **deep** down into her, finding spots he'd never seen nor touched in their whole time together. And with how much he did to her, how often he preened her parts and tuned her to perfection, Dean was sure that even the Impala herself had never had someone return to the places he was tending to now; not since she was first made. It was exploratory for the both of them.

Long after he'd needed to, the older Winchester finally **had** to rest. He'd been at it all day, had hardly even eaten, and it was getting late. But, before he went in to ask his brother what he was in the mood for, for dinner, Dean wanted to address the discomfort pressing against the front of his jeans; something that had become too much to bare (nearly three hours ago, when his mouth had watered within the first glance of her _underneath_ ).

He dropped his arms, shaky fingers with weathered, worn callouses from knuckle to nail, began unbuttoning his pants in an eager, silent sense of haste. The only other sound was the shitty little two cassette radio perched atop the Impala's hood, which was disrobed from her and positioned as shade for his cooler. The low quality sound, high quality music of Led Zeppelin spilling out from it aided the louder (maybe only to him) slide of his zipper; it was like guilt in his stomach.

Dean shucked the jeans down his waist a little, exposing the soft, light curls of thin pubic hair above his cock. He swallowed as his fingers grazed the base of his shaft, closing his eyes and letting out a heavy sigh of relief.

It would be done and over fast, so fast, like it always was. Sam wouldn't even have to know that Dean had done it, he was inside the house, busy still, and Bobby was gone for at _least_ another day. No one would even know.

It'd been so long since he'd been with her like this, and had the opportunity to act upon instinct. He could barely remember the last time, just that it was quick, rushed and a little too impatient; over too soon to really enjoy. He'd come out in the middle of the night, stationed at some unnamed motel, and when he'd dropped his forehead against the steering wheel, shuddering his release against it and curling into her afterwards, he'd felt that familiar rush.

His face had been red from both the lust of it, and the embarrassment and terror that maybe, maybe this time he'd gotten caught. Maybe this time he'd be taken from her and locked away for good, for being like **this**.

Then he'd cleaned her up and cleaned her out, inspected the entire front of her to make sure that there was absolutely **no** sign of what he'd done. He was _always_ paranoid after relief with her, but he couldn't help doing it. He couldn't resist the affect she had on him.

Even in this state, maybe especially like this, she excited him. With her shell sat about, her body a wreck, she still brought him around to this, falling apart inside of her, practically sobbing, because the entire thing of it wasn't fair to either of them. It wasn't fair to be stuck in such a limbo of wants and needs, wrongs and abnormalities, stuck within the confines of reality. But he couldn't stop, he could never stop coming back to her, and he honestly didn't regret it.

"Just once," He said, breathless from the day's work, hand moving all slow and smooth over his flesh, fingers about the base of himself, "I just need this, once."

Dean normally kept this side of himself very, **very** private. It wasn't a badge he wore with pride, and sometimes he couldn't _completely_ hide it, calling to her on reflex, touching her; Sam saw just slivers of Dean's affection for his car, of things toned down to the barest minimum.

Normally, he kept it locked away for just himself and her. Never around Sam, even though they knew practically everything about each other, Dean never told his brother about this.

And it wasn't often that he got to have this with her. Hell, he could probably count the times he'd jacked off in the Impala (alone) on both hands; even then, he'd only be shortly into the second. If it wasn't with Sam, it was barely at all. And he wanted this so bad now.

It hurt to see her in such a state of disrepair. Dean remembered that sick twist in his gut when he saw her, broken up and bent out; he always put her back together though. He always took care of his baby. And each time, he felt closer to her than before, as if he was mending their distant relationship, trying to keep her close, trying to let her know that, though he didn't often express his love outwardly to her, it **was** there. It was hidden deep underneath, but it was **definitely** there.

He'd do anything to get his hands on her though, to do more than just this, to show her how she affected him, but he had to settle. She _had_ to understand and respect that. She had to take just this. It was all he had to give.

And though she was in a complete mess right now, Dean knew she'd be in tip-fucking-top shape when he was done taking care of her, and bandaging her back up; better than before, he was sure.

Dean's sweat slick hand took his cock up, practically weeping from the slit and already so hard for her that he almost couldn't think straight. She did this to him, even like this, she had an effect like no other he'd met; maybe Sam, but no one else.

His fingers dabbed at the little white beads of precum escaping the tip, smearing them down the head of his cock as a sweet breeze rolled through the Impala's bones, shaking her up and cooling him, for a moment. It teased at his erection and he ignored the trickle of sweat wandering down his neck and likely falling to the floorboard below, soaking into the blanket underneath.

He turned his face into the side of her, breathing that familiar leather, metallic musk of engine and car frame, "Give me this, baby. S'all I need."

It was exciting, almost like the first time he'd driven her, when he'd felt the purr of her engine under his weight and Dean had became so immediately aroused that he was grateful no one else was around to see it; especially his father. That had been his first time ever; not just with her, but _**with** _ her.

That time, he'd been so completely miserable afterwards, falling out of himself and then sitting there, staring at the dashboard as he panted and sobbed for hours. He'd been so emotional over the entire experience and _goddamn, just thinking about it.._. It was hard **enough** to deal with his relationship with the Impala _now_ , but when he was only seventeen years old, and didn't understand hardly anything in his life, at all... It had felt so _alien_ , so _virgin_. And may be it was, maybe it was both, but Dean didn't care anymore. It wasn't like he could stop it.

It was always like this when he got with her, though. Too _good_ , and not nearly done often enough. So it was **always** new like this.

His stomach fluttered, nervous and barely able to swallow, trying to keep sounds from coming out. Sure, Sam was inside, and the radio would've been loud enough to muffle sounds, but he was never loud around her; too afraid, too embarrassed, too terrified to show anyone what she did to him; **especially** Sam.

It was bad enough that they were together, that _that_ had happened. But if Sam knew about this...

Dean was aware that it wasn't normal. It was certainly heard of, but it wasn't normal at all.

"Please," Dean shuddered as he tugged himself, knees bent, boots sliding along the blanket spread throughout the bed of her. He knew he was getting close and, with his eyes squeezed shut, so concentrated on the euphoria, on the swell of longing and pent-up sexual frustration, he missed the shadow passing over head.

He was so completely into her now, taken up within the moment and words were passing through his numb lips without immediate care or concern for them, "Give me this, baby, I just..."

He hadn't even meant to make the little whimpering sounds that he knew came out when he was with Sam, but now even _those_ were escaping from his throat. Dean had waited so long, wanted her **so bad** that his body shook, toes curling, legs trembling almost violently as he came.

Sam, having wandered outside to ask his brother, once more, if he wanted help with the car, was completely surprised and somewhat taken aback by what he'd found.

Watching his brother jerk off wasn't unusual at all, but the _tone_ of it, the _excitement_ , how clearly _ruffled_ Dean was, that was new. And he watched his brother with wide eyes, Dean was flustered and worked up... _in his car._ There was a joke in there, somewhere, Sam was sure, and he crossed his arms.

"Nice to see that you're _hard_ at work."

Dean sat up so fast that he slammed his head on the base of the Impala's steering wheel, he pulled his boxer briefs up with his jeans, grabbing the rag from his side and wiping his hands as he turned his back on Sam. The younger Winchester, who was standing there, casting a shadow over Dean and laughing at him.

Dean felt the entire world falling out from under his feet, nearly gagging with the sick feeling overwhelming him at the sound of his brother, so amused.

"What... What are you doin' out here?"

"I came to check on you, see if you wanted an extra pair of hands," Sam said as he straightened up, "So you needed them, just not in the way I figured But, you know, you coulda come in and I would've helped with that."

Dean sat up and climbed out of the driver's side as he glared at his brother. He was completely embarrassed, not only to be caught jacking off, but doing _**this**_? **_This_ ** that he'd been quiet about for _so_ long.

Sam tilted his head in confusion, "You're... Not upset with me, for catching you jacking off, are you?"

Dean looked away, eyes wide, completely mortified.

"Dean," The younger Winchester started nervously, "I've seen you jack off more times than I could care to count. You're not _really_ upset, are you?"

Upset, terrified, furious, scared, kind of aroused, Dean was quite a _few_ things that he couldn't explain. Sam thought this was all so innocent, but it wasn't.

"And I thought you were into your car before-"

"Don't," Dean started, but stopped, nearly swallowing his tongue as Sam raised a brow.

His brother had been picking on him without really considering the fact that it was _serious_. And now, well, Dean might as well have sprayed ' _Carsexual_ ' on his fucking forehead for all that had done.

"Dean," Sam walked closer, "It was just a joke."

Sam knew his brother well enough to see that Dean was seriously uncomfortable. Which meant only one thing that he could think of: he'd walked in on something completely personal, something his brother didn't want him to see.

It was something Dean had never told him, and **still** , very clearly, didn't want to tell him.

Which probably meant, in some odd way, that Dean was cheating on him with a '67 Chevy Impala. He almost laughed at the thought, but it was damaging enough to his brother to try and joke lightly about it, Sam had to take this seriously (and carefully) or their relationship would be at stake.

He wasn't sure how long this uh... Fascination had been going on, but considering every reaction Sam had ever seen of Dean's, aimed at his car, Sam could guess it'd been a... A _while_.

"Are we gonna talk about this?" He asked, taking on a more serious tone.

Dean answered at once though, stubborn as usual, "No."

Sam moved to take Dean's forearm, to make the shorter man look at him and Dean snapped, shoving him away and giving that familiar death glare that meant Sam was lucky to be alive right now.

"Dean-"

"Stop talking, Sam."

The younger Winchester's eyes widened at the furious sound of his brother's voice. Dean never talked to him like that. What the **fuck** had he walked in on?

Sam had to tread very, very, very carefully.

"I'm not upset," He said at once and Dean looked at him, urging Sam to be quiet, "It's not wrong."

_Was it?_ Sam wasn't sure. But he didn't care. Maybe what they did was wrong, it didn't matter. It felt right, felt good, that should be enough.

Dean looked at Sam then, actually surprised and confused, "What?"

"It's not wrong," Sam repeated, moving to his brother and taking Dean's waist within his large palms, "So what, you get off to your car-"

"Sam," Dean warned.

"We've done worse things," The younger Winchester continued, "It... Makes you feel good, right?"

Dean's cheeks heated and he tried to look away.

"Don't do that," Sam said, touching his brother's chin, "Look at me, talk to me, Dean."

"Sam, please don't-"

"It makes you feel good, right?"

Dean looked nervously up at Sam, he couldn't believe he was about to answer this kind of question. He couldn't even say the words though, all he could do was nod.

He watched with fear and trepidation as Sam stepped closer.

"See, that wasn't so hard," The younger Winchester breathed, still worried about Dean hitting him or something. He could tell that his brother was all kinds of nerves and hairs on ends right now.

Sam had to give him something to ease the terror back.

"I'm still here, see?" He asked, searching the shorter man's eyes, "I haven't run off screaming that you're vandalizing machines or holding my fingers up in a cross motion. I'm still right here, okay?"

Dean nodded, swallowing.

"Now, talk to me, would you?"

"What do you want me to say?" Dean asked, trying to duck his head, but Sam bent his knees enough that his nose followed Dean's.

"Tell me about this, I'm not gonna judge you, I'm..." _What?_ Sam narrowed his brows, _your brother, your lover, your mate, boyfriend?_ "I'm your partner, and I wanna know what excites you, even if it's... Not as normal as what excites others. As long as you like it, I can get into it." He looked at the car, considering the frame, "Maybe literally?"

Dean's eyes widened, Sam seemed honest, and sincere.

"You're serious?"

"Dead," Sam responded, "If it's what you like, who am I to judge you, Dean?"

The older Winchester turned to look at the car, shaking his head minutely, "I don't know what to say about it, Sam, I..."

Sam waited, watching him closely, giving him a moment.

"I haven't told anyone about this," Dean said, voice just above a whisper.

"I can tell," Sam thumbed his brother's chin, "I would've never even guessed. I mean, I know you can be... Kind of obvious about it in some cases, but-"

"Sam, I can't talk about this."

"You need to," The younger Winchester insisted, running his forefinger down Dean's jawline, "How long?"

Dean narrowed his brows, "What?"

"How long have you known you've felt this way?"

Dean started to pull away again but Sam held him firm and stared into his eyes, "Can you just let me go, goddammit?"

"Can you stop fighting me?" Sam asked, voice louder and stern as he stared at his older brother, "I'm accepting this, I'm trying. Now, can you?"

"Sam-"

Sam backed Dean against the car's side and kissed him, hands holding his brother's arms against his waist to keep him there. Dean only fought for a moment though, Sam assumed it was out of mostly shock and frustration but he quickly gave in, melting back and responding.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam’s curiosity get the better of him, and he decides to help his brother become more comfortable with his unusual sexuality.

"Since I first started her up."

Sam looked up curiously from his spot by the Impala, laptop in hand. He'd been sitting there for nearly two hours in silence with Dean, typing quietly and checking news feeds as his brother rested in the driver's side floorboard, working on the car's guts, "What?"

Dean turned to him after a moment of quiet calm between them and he motioned to Sam, "You asked when I first knew about it, yesterday. That's when."

"Love at first drive?"

The older Winchester glared and Sam smirked.

"I'm not picking on you," He tried to reassure his brother as Dean went back to the wires. Sam's eyes wandered over Dean's body, the packed muscles of the shorter man's shoulders exposed thanks to the dirty, sweat-soaked white muscle shirt he had on. Sam could just make out the line of his brother's boner, tucked away in his jeans as he fixed the Impala.

Sam had gotten onto him for trying to hide it before, when Dean had first settled on the floor of the car, and Sam took up shop nearby. It was almost instant, the effect she had on Dean. He wanted to give his brother relief, but he was worried that Dean might just push him away.

"I wish you'd share more of it with me," Sam said, eyes locked on the stubborn outline.

"Like what?" Dean asked.

Sam could imagine that he was hoping Sam wasn't _too_ curious, that there were probably parts of this entire thing that he was afraid to share, maybe afraid to talk about or even acknowledge aloud. Maybe Dean was actually grateful that the Impala, itself (or _herself_ ), couldn't **actually** say things, couldn't constantly nag and ask him about their relationship.

"Well, I know that you jack off in her and yeah, that seems obvious," Sam started, adopting the 'personified' term his brother used when talking about his _Baby_ , in hopes that it might ease Dean into things.

The older Winchester raised his brows, "But?"

Sam shrugged, he was always going to struggle with words when it came to talking about this. He wasn't sure how Dean thought of it, or how the older man worded it in his own mind. Some of the things, he imagined, didn't really have a term outside the thought or form itself, "I don't really know how to ask it."

He saw the older Winchester go rigid at once and could hear Dean clear his throat, almost impatient with suspense.

"Have you ever..." Sam gave Dean a very specific, pointed look and motioned to the Impala. Before Dean could say anything, though, the stumbling mess of words started pouring out of Sam's mouth, "I mean... You wouldn't have had the chance, would you? I mean, **have** you?"

"Have I **what** , Sam?" Dean asked finally, sitting up, "Have I ever _**fucked** my car_ , is that what you're asking?"

Sam's eyes widened as his brother flared up, but he nodded, trying to keep it simple.

"No," The older Winchester laid back down almost violently, rocking the Impala with the movement, obviously furious with Sam's ignorant question, and - suddenly - he knew why.

"You _want_ to, though."

"Sam-"

"No, Dean. It's fine," He tried to say before his brother got upset with him, "I mean, I get it. But have you ever thought..?"

He stopped, waking his screen back up and starting a google search, fingers flying over the keys as he typed.

Dean was quiet for a moment, waiting for the end of the question, but it didn't come. Sam could feel his eyes practically digging into him, "Have I ever thought **what** , Sam? What're you talking about?"

"Nothing," Sam said at once, but looked at Dean again as the older man started to get up. "The most you've ever done is jack off?"

Dean's face flushed as he stopped moving and ignored the question instead, getting back to work.

* * *

Despite their relationship plummeting towards the ground, Dean spending the bulk of his time working on the Impala and hating Sam for every word that came out of his mouth, the younger Winchester persistently read through document after document online.

Him and his brother normally kept away from things like 'toys', they were both still sort of new and fresh to this themselves, but after looking hard enough, Sam was sure he could find a way for Dean to be what he wanted - with his car - and it would require one. It'd also require a lot of tweaking, some manipulation, and maybe an expert to do it, but Sam was adamant. He **would** do this for Dean.

It was an unusual situation for the both of them, but he wanted Dean to be comfortable, for the older Winchester to know that, not only did Sam accept the oddity, but he welcomed it. He just wished Dean would let him in a little, and not be so collected, and fucking stubborn.

The first step wasn't to go through with getting what he'd been looking into so much, though. That had to be done just before the car was near completion, and there was too much time between then and now. The first step, Sam figured, was getting his brother to be more open with him, not just talking about it (which he **already** had a problem with), but _doing_ it, with Sam around - **knowingly** \- this time.

The problem was that he never really knew when Dean was in the **mood** for that kind of _thing_. The best he had to go on was himself, and what he already knew about Dean's feelings towards the Impala.

So Sam took it upon himself to find out more.

It was late in the night, nearing twelve, and Dean was just now crawling into bed, probably thinking that Sam was out completely as he pulled the covers over his body and laid his head on the pillow.

Sam moved at once though, shifting forward and wrapping his arm around his brother's waist. Dean didn't startle, but Sam felt him relax in recognition, leaning back into him. They hadn't been like this in a while, not since the Impala incident, but Sam was glad to see that Dean wasn't going to just push him away entirely, "I have a couple of questions."

At once, the relaxation was gone, and Dean was quickly tensing up.

"Calm down," The younger Winchester tried to reassure him, "It's really not that horrible to just talk to me, Dean. You can't get pissed off every time I try to get you to open up to me some."

"What do you wanna ask?" Dean barely breathed out, voice tight, clearly not wanting Sam to actually answer him.

And now he had to figure out how the **hell** he was going to phrase it. The last thing he wanted to do was to come off as a complete snob, or to sound superior, or just ignorant; like he normally did. But he sort of actually **was** ignorant, honestly, not purposefully though - he was trying his best not to be, anymore.

Sam was so suddenly silent that Dean turned a bit to look pointedly at him.

"Sorry," He said, smiling weakly before he caressed Dean's side, "Umm, how many times have you done _that_... With your car? I mean, I'm just curious."

Dean stiffened even more, if it was possible, and turned away, clearly intent on not answering. He was breaching hostility, some sort of random outburst, or the complete cold quietness that Dean took when he wanted to murder someone. It wasn't a situation Sam wanted to be in with his lover.

"Come on, Dean," Sam touched his brother's shoulder, "It's a simple question, I'm not trying to start anything by it, I just wanna know."

"Not **enough** times," Dean said, almost a whisper, and Sam barely caught it, but the older Winchester kept himself turned away entirely.

"But how many? Do you know?"

Dean sighed in annoyance and Sam was bothered by the fact that he couldn't actually see his brother's face. He wanted to, he could read into so much more from him if Dean's face wasn't obstructed.

The older Winchester finally said, very weakly: "Seven times, including the time you saw."

 _Seven? Like... Only **seven** times in the past **15+ years**?_ That was practically impossible, Sam thought, inconceivable that Dean had withheld so much and so often. It was like having sex with someone once _every other year_. But there weren't really many opportunities, were there? Not with cases and demons, and Sam being around him all the time.

And he'd never even known that Dean had been hiding this, probably fighting it more often than not. Sam couldn't have even begun to guess, or suspect, anything of his brother. It was a pretty well kept secret - until now.

Sam wasn't jealous, at all, he was probably more curious than anything, but he wanted to utilize this new information in some way that made Dean feel better about how he was feeling.

"When you're with me, or jacking off, on your own," Sam started carefully, kissing his brother's shoulder blade, "How often do you think about her?"

Dean turned finally, staring Sam in the eyes, practically accusing him with the look, "Are you really gonna corner me with'a question like that?"

"I'm not cornering you at all, Dean," Sam argued in his own defense, touching his brother's jaw line, "I really just wanna know. I'm not trying to put the spotlight on you, I'm not trying to make you feel bad, I **actually** want to know. I wanna help."

"Help what? Help _fix_ me?"

"No," Sam corrected at once, interrupting his brother's tirade, he saw it coming, saw Dean's fury building up. They'd fought about this too much, he was tired of fighting about something he **accepted** about his brother, "I want... I want to be a part of this, of what you have with the Impala. I don't wanna stop it, Dean. I... I _encourage_ you to explore it, you shouldn't have to be so shy about it. I mean, seven times? Since you were... What... Sixteen?"

"Seventeen," Dean visibly swallowed, blinking and staring at Sam differently now, "You don't... You don't think it's weird?"

Sam smiled and shrugged, "No, I **definitely** think it's weird, but since when has our family ever been normal, Dean? I mean, you and I are sleeping together, is **that** not weird? You have a gun under your pillow, we fight ghosts, kill vampires, we've memorized the spell to push demons out of human bodies, we line our doors and windows with salt and we're more familiar with fake IDs than our own real ones. That's not all weird?"

Dean nodded slowly, "Alright, point taken."

"I don't want you to feel alone in this anymore," The younger Winchester leaned in, pressing his lips to Dean's, all careful and soft, "You shouldn't have to. I'm your partner, and I wanna help."

"So what do we do?"

* * *

"Sam, I... Are you sure about this?" Dean asked, voice all kinds of shaken as Sam yanked his brother's pants down his thighs. His legs trembled, cock slapping his stomach and straightening back up in eager anticipation despite it's owner's hesitancy.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Sam raised a brow, kissing the insides of his brother's sweet little bowlegs, moving up and taking Dean's cock by the hilt.

Dean shuddered and turned his face into the leather of the car, breathing out Sam's name as he closed his eyes, "I... I don't know, I'm still not really... I just, you can't actually wanna **do** this, can you?"

"I do," Sam assured, touching Dean's thigh, "Tell me how you feel, Dean, tell me how you want her; what she does to you."

"Sam, please-"

The younger Winchester closed his mouth over his brother's dick, tongue flicking along the head as he worked the shaft within his palm. He heard Dean let out a strangled, almost pained gasp.

"You... Actually think... I can concentrate on words... Right now?" Dean asked between breaths, bowed legs spreading instinctively.

Sam pulled back and looked up at his brother silently, pointing his brow.

Dean sighed and dropped his head back, "Alright, okay... Uh, I-fuck," He stopped as Sam took the dick back into his mouth, "This is fuckin' cheesy as hell," He breathed, licking his lips and tangling his left hand in his brother's hair.

"I think about her as often as I think about you, when I get off," Dean said, which answered Sam's question from the night before, "I can't help it, Sammy, I can't stop thinkin' about her. It doesn't even make sense to me half'a the time. I get in her an' it's all I think about, drivin' with you is actually the... The worst. All I wanna do is... Is stop an'... An' do somethin'."

Sam's eyes widened as Dean's hips arched up into him suddenly, but he took it in stride, his thumb stroking his brother's balls as he listened.

"I dunno why or how she does it to me, but I honestly can't think straight when I'm like this. I'm inside of her an' it's like it's surrounding me, suffocating me, like I can't breathe-" Dean let out a sharp, tight breath and Sam nearly choked as the older Winchester yanked his hair, changing the positioning of his brother's dick within his mouth and brushing his gag reflex.

The younger Winchester struggled to maintain control, the purpling length with his lips wrapped around it was close, he knew it, and Dean was a shuddering mess. He flicked his gaze up and watched his brother.

Dean was in a way Sam hadn't seen before a couple of days ago, eyes widened, body trembling under him, staring up along the steering wheel and roof of the Impala, hands clasped on the metal frame below. His mouth was open in a small, weak 'o' shape, eyebrows broken, a simple, single tear rolling down his cheek. Otherwise, the rest of him was locked up, stunned in place, either unable or unwilling to move - Sam wasn't sure which.

It almost looked painful, from his point of view, but he knew his brother, knew him well enough. In all his time he'd never seen this, so it wasn't pain; he knew Dean's reactions to pains of many, various kinds.

Dean's pleasure, though, had similarities to this. The sounds reminded Sam of when he fucked his brother, long after Dean had become sensitive to his ministrations, so good that it ached and almost hurt, but how he'd wanted more - and they could fuck for hours like that, with the sharp, squirming, post-orgasmic ache of wanting seconds and thirds just like it.

"Please," Dean's voice was small, needy, so unusual to Sam. He wasn't use to hearing his brother beg for it, "Please, I can't-Baby..."

He'd be lying to himself, if he said that hearing his brother like this, whining for the car, didn't stir his dick up, causing an almost full blown erection to press challengingly against the jeans he had on. _Holy fucking Christ_. How do you only let something like this out seven times in your life?

The man below him winced, "Sam, I'm close," He whispered, "Oh, fuck, _fuck_ , really close."

Sam shifted, the Impala creaking under the change of his position as his knee settled against the side of her. Dean grabbed at Sam's shirt now, yanking him up again, pulling him off his brother's dick this time and grabbing his face. He shoved their mouths together, turning them onto their sides before Dean pressed his lower half to the floor of the Impala, hips arching, body shaking as he came.

"Fuck, fuck," Dean was practically chanting out, forehead just against where her gas peddle would've been. His face was sweated, red from exertion, tears practically streaming down his face. His body shook, fists twisted up in the plaid of Sam's shirt and he'd actually started crying.

Sam honestly didn't know what to do, he'd never had to deal with his brother in such a crisis. He didn't know what Dean was like during his six other times with the Impala. What he'd seen before had been suddenly halted, with Dean slamming his head on the steering wheel and turning to hide himself. He figured, though, that Dean was probably more like this, most likely. It had to be a confusing spot he was placed in, not knowing how his own body should react.

"It's okay, Dean," Sam took up his brother's face, cupping his cheeks and kissing him, "It's okay, I'm here, calm down."

Dean was breathing heavily, almost violently, as if he'd ran fifteen miles in a dead sprint. His chest heaved against Sam's but he kissed back, eager and scrambling to get closer.

Sam dried his brother's face with his thumbs the best he could, kissing and licking along Dean's jaw as he smiled. He leaned in, whispering to the older Winchester, "I thought it was amazing, you don't need to be embarrassed."

"You... I _don't_?" Dean asked, cheeks still red, freckles glowing, "You... You **liked** it?"

"You tell me," Sam said as he pressed his lower half to Dean's, the erection straining in his jeans planting itself stubbornly against his brother's naked lap.

Dean stared up at him with widening eyes, "You're hard," He observed aloud, eyebrows narrowed like he was confused or trying to figure something out.

"Looks like it."


	3. Chapter 3

It's the third time in less than a month, the ninth time all together. And having her like this, so often, feels almost wrong somehow - like he doesn't deserve it; like he shouldn't have it. But Sam wants him to.

Sam, his younger brother, the one that shouldn't even _know_ about this, is that little devil on his shoulder, urging him forward. This is so fucked up, so _wrong_ , he shouldn't feel like this; he shouldn't want it. But god dammit he does. And with Sam's support backing him, he's almost positive that this is going to become a regular thing.

This, _a regular thing_. The thought causes a shiver to stir down his spine, snapping out along the plains of his muscles, twisting them. Common, familiar - for once. Something he's use to.

He could have her... He could have her whenever he _wanted_. Now that's an actual goddamn thought.

Dean's forehead was pressed against the steering wheel again, like always, a position he'd adopted over the years for such an occasion. The only real one that made sense, an easy one to get to, an easy one to hide what he was doing - what was happening.

He was panting, his hand was dragging over his cock so slowly - so fucking painfully slowly that he was losing his goddamn mind, his legs keep clenching and releasing, knees digging into the blanket set out below, where his back normally was when he worked on her.

He was so close now. He was so close, and he could smell her all around him, encompassing him, overwhelming him. That familiar, sharp, comfortable smell of leather and metal that he'd known all of his goddamn life.

Every time in the past, it'd been so quick and rushed, red-faced and embarrassed - and this time wasn't any different.

Dean wanted to get off, he wanted release, relief. There was no fucking foreplay involved in this, no reason to take his time. Just one goal, one aim, and his heart was racing - telling him to get it done and get it done now before anyone sees.

But someone already was, someone had been watching him this entire time, someone brought him here and made him whip it out for the girl, and he'd never felt better about his unusual feelings for the Impala, than he had when Sam had told him what to do.

Though he'd been ordering parts at the time, parts he couldn't really improvise on, the thought of putting them in her had done things. _It **always** did_. He was shifting in his seat for about ten minutes, wanting to touch himself, wanting to come out and be with her. The last time he'd fixed her up - after dad died - that was two times, two of the remaining six. And goddamn had he felt so horribly guilty.

But Sam had seen him shifting, knew what was happening, and wasn't having any excuses, the fucking younger Winchester was so goddamn stubborn.

He looked over, across what should've been the front bench seat, to the passenger's side, and seated there, on the floor of the car, watching him with dark, hooded eyes, was his brother.

Dean's body trembled under Sam's gaze and he let out the strangled grunt, a sort of whimper as he looked out, glancing out just enough, through the front of her, the hood still cast aside, the engine about, the guts of her in the middle of repair and-"Son... Sonova **bitch** ," He shuddered, covering the head of his cock with his fingers to stop up the mess.

He'd never understand how she brought it out of him each and every fucking time, and **goddamn** , he doesn't really care anymore. He doesn't care for trying to figure out **why**. It's just a thing now.

He felt the tears on his cheeks and wiped them away. He didn't bother hiding it, Sam had seen how he got during this, so it was probably expected. Dean sat back on his calves as he reached out and grabbed some of the clean tissues from the duffel that Sam had set out for him. _You sick and twisted bastard. You're feeding this problem, not **fixing** it._

He finished cleaning himself off and looked over at his brother again, face still red no doubt, shoulders shaking, his whole body knotted up as he tucked his cock away and pulled back up his pants.

Dean's eyes actually widened when he realized that his brother was... _Doing the same thing_. Cleaning himself, pulling his boxers back over his softening length.

Sam panted and stared at him for a while, the silence growing between them before he leaned over Dean's pile of tools and grabbed the back of his neck in his fist, as if picking him up by the scruff and pulled him in.

He wasn't prepared for the pressure, the heat, Sam's sharp little breaths escaping his nostrils as he shoved their lips together. Though he was taken somewhat aback, he opened his mouth and returned the kiss almost furiously, hands clutching the sides of Sam's shirt as the younger Winchester's free hand grabbed his shoulder.

He was kissed until he was red-faced and breathless again, and they were sitting on their respective sides of the car, and Dean was gasping for air, clutching his chest and resting his back against the outer frame of the door, watching Sam with wide-blown eyes.

"Are you going to tell me about them?" Sam asked as he breathed, elbows resting on his knees.

"About what?"

He saw the look register on Sam's face, the look that said ' _you're probably not going to like this, Dean, but could you please play nice?_ '.

Dean felt his insides tighten at that look - because he knew what it did to him more often than not, as a result. A sort of fear settled in, but he tried to remain somewhat open-minded and optimistic, considering he knew his brother's stance on the situation at large.

"About what, Sam?" He asked again, voice riddled with trepidation.

The younger Winchester smiled warily and motioned to Dean in his entirety, "You said seven, now nine, and I know of 3, tell me about the other six times."

Dean all but groaned in annoyance, brows narrowing as he closed his eyes, "Why're you so curious, Sam, huh? Why do you gotta know every detail about this? Why'd you drag me out here today?"

He felt like he was being set out, put on display - with this. Like Sam was trying to pull him open and look at each goddamn part, study him like some kind of lab experiment. And, though Dean was often masochistic and a bit full of himself, bragging, sometimes, he wasn't really much of an exhibitionist.

He kept to himself, he was actually fairly private, secluded, recluse, even. He didn't like putting himself out there, let alone having someone else do it **for** him.

"Because it makes you feel good," Sam answered back and Dean opened his eyes again, "That's not a bad thing, is it? Helping you to feel good?"

"You sound like you're fifteen."

"Yeah?" Sam chuckled, "Well you sound like you're eleven and just realized what a boner is. Come on, Dean. Why are you doing this to yourself?"

Dean looked away and swallowed, afraid of what his brother was implying, "I'm not doin' anythin'."

"Yes you are, and you always do," He heard Sam say, "Why do you always have to act like this? Treating yourself like some damaged piece? Like anything you feel has to be wrong. You did it with me, remember? You probably **still** feel wrong about that, but you **shouldn't**."

He wasn't going to tell his brother that he was right, that Dean **did** feel bad. That Sam hit the goddamn screw with a sludge-hammer, the ever illusive screw, less willing (or maybe more formidable) than it's partner - the nail. And Dean had still, unwillingly, _buckled_.

His brother was right, Sam knew him. Maybe Dean didn't even have to be put out on display, maybe Sam could already see everything.

Dean started to shake his head, "Sam-don't-"

"Shut up, Dean, and listen to me."

_You're a stubborn jackass, an' you never let me keep my privacy. It's times like this that you remind me of our dad, an' just how much more alike you an' him are._

Dean was about to protest again when Sam was climbing over his tools and settling down in front of him, large legs on either side of him as Sam forced Dean into a stare.

The younger Winchester held his gaze as he insisted: "It's not wrong, Dean. It's not wrong to like sex, it's not wrong to like sex with **me** , and it's not wrong to be turned on by _this_."

"You can't even say it-"

"Don't start that with me, Dean," Sam interrupted him again, "I avoid the words for _your_ comfort. **You** can't say it. **I** can. Are you gonna make me? Because I have no problem with the words."

He tried looking away again, or backing up, or escaping Sam, but the larger man wouldn't let him.

"God dammit, you're like a teenager with the sex talk," Sam sat back, " **You get off on your car.** "

This really **did** make Dean feel like the fourteen year old, wanting to stick his fingers in his ears and go 'la la la' to shut his brother up. Sam was the parent insisting on the sex talk with their kid, it was a weird sort of backwards with them.

"You're a very sexual person, Dean, some people just _are_ ," The younger Winchester said, taking Dean's hand in his, "That's one of the things about you that I can say I admire, and enjoy, the most. And I hate seeing you war against _that_ side of yourself. You've **always** been that way, why bother fighting it?"

"You express better with sex, you're horny all of the time, it's who you are. It... Honestly doesn't surprise me that your car gets you hard. Don't wince at me."

He wasn't trying to, it just sort of happened.

Sam leaned in and kissed him, "Accept it, already, and move on. You'll be a lot happier for it."

"Thanks for the PSA, Sam, I think I can take it from here."

"I don't think you actually **can** ," Sam countered, brows narrowing, "You haven't been handling this so well on your own, _so far_. And I'm not backing down now, so you don't really have a choice. You **need** to be more comfortable with feeling like this, Dean."

"I can't help it, it's been like this a long time," Dean struggled to defend himself.

"I know," The larger man said, staring at him warmly, "I know it has, Dean. But it needs to stop here, or it's going to destroy you. You deserve to have this, trust me. I mean, look at it. It's not hurting anyone, no one else needs to know - it's not their business. What you do in bed... Or in the garage-"

Dean couldn't help the laugh coming out, as painful as it was in nature.

"I mean it, Dean."

He nodded, "I know you do."

Sam reached out, cupping Dean's cheek and leaning in to touch their noses together. Dean felt a soft stirring in his stomach, at the sincerity he saw within his brother's eyes, "I love it, I think it's _hot_. I have no problem with you doing it, with or without me, it doesn't matter. I want you to. Of all the things we've done in our lives, this is one of the most innocent. And some of the ones further down the list we do every single day. So stop feeling so goddamn guilty."

Dean found his hands subconsciously grabbing onto the sides of Sam's arms and he nodded, "Alright, you've made your point, I get it. I'll try."

"Thank you," The younger Winchester smiled at him and Dean nearly fucking melted, "Now tell me about the other six times."

* * *

"You know what a _fleshlight_ is, right?"

Dean straightened up at once and looked at his brother, brows nearly to his goddamn hairline as he looked at Sam. "Uh, yeah... Of course I do. _Why_?"

"Would you ever use one?" Sam asked and Dean wasn't sure where the fuck this conversation was going, but it was making him all kinds of nervous, so he ducked his head back under the hood and stayed quiet.

"Don't knock it, Dean," The younger Winchester started and Dean laughed.

"Are you tryin' to tell me somethin', Sammy boy?"

" _Kind of_ , yes."

Dean straightened up again, this time actually turning to Sam bodily and staring at him. He could tell, at once, that his brother was actually dead fucking serious - like, heart attack serious.

"Fleshlight, right," Dean tried to connect it to something of relevance, "Why're we talkin' about this?"

"Say you put it somewhere... _In the Impala_."

He didn't even have to think about it before he was hard, all Sam said was the word 'Impala' within that context and Dean's mind was doing it's own thing.

"You're kiddin' me, right?" Dean asked, shifting his left leg forward to hide his goddamn boner - the thing was so shameless sometimes, "Sam-"

" **You want to fuck your car** ," The younger Winchester said, pronouncing each word and raising his brows when Dean looked at him humorlessly, "You want to **fuck** her, Dean. I'm not pretending it's anything else. What's the _point_? I'm not thinking of it any differently than that, _that's what it **is**_."

Dean was practically trying to hide his face now, out of embarrassment, he was pretty sure he was red - using his shoulder as armor to shield him from his brother, but Sam kept on going.

"Why bother beating around it, with me - when I know that's what you want to do and I'm still here, trying to help you do just _that_ , well aware of what it means, Dean," The younger Winchester was still staring at him, adamant, apparently, to make him feel so nervous that he might just shake off his muscles and run around all skeleton and skin, "I'm sorry, Dean. But it's **true** , **you** know it, **I** know it. I want to help make it _possible_."

"An' you think a fleshlight is goin' to do that?"

Sam sighed and nodded, "Yes, I do," He said in determination, and his confidence was somewhat intimidating, "You think people... Uh, people like... People that are, uh-"

"Carsexuals," Dean supplied, looking up for just a moment and his heart fucking stammered like a goddamn drunken bull when Sam smiled, almost fondly or some shit. He wasn't sure if it was because of the term, because Dean _knew_ the term, or because he offered it up.

" _Carsexuals_ , alright," The younger Winchester chuckled _, yeah, fuck you, Sam,_ "You think they had even the possibility of manipulating something like fleshlights in the seventies, sixties? Can you imagine what they would've done, to have it? To be able to be like that with their car. It might not be the absolute best idea to make it possible, but people do these things... _Professionally_. Maybe illegally, I don't know or care, but professionally."

"Sam," Dean was practically shuddering at the thought.

Sam closed his laptop and walked over to Dean, forcing him to stand straight up and turn to him.

Dean moved, as unwillingly as possible, face heating as Sam stared down at the crotch of his pants. He'd been working on becoming comfortable with his feelings for the car, but seriously... _This was a problem_.

"It's not wrong, Dean," Sam said, as if reading his fucking mind, "Look at this, look at what she does." His voice was darker now, and Dean was so goddamn weak in the knees.

Sam palmed the front of his jeans, eliciting a moan of weak encouragement from Dean.

"You're an asshole," Dean groaned out.

Sam smirked, "And you look good when you get hard for her. I don't blame you," Dean shuddered as his brother leaned down to his ear, "She's your baby, I'm just trying to help you fuck her."

He watched as Sam put the hood down, the taller man leaning in and taking his lips up as the Impala shook a little. Dean was about to protest, he actually _did_ have things to do, and it was getting later in the day, but Sam wasn't having any of it.

Dean didn't even have a chance to gasp before his back was on the hood of the car and Sam was yanking his pants from his shaking thighs. The younger Winchester grabbed his tight black boxer-briefs and ripped them off as well, Dean's cock, swollen and purpling already, jumping out and smacking his stomach, smearing a snail-trail of come over his skin.

"Ah, goddamn," He watched Sam nearly rip his own shirt off, unbuckling his pants and flipping his own out, the member eagerly poking from it's jacket, pre-come practically bubbling at the tip, "This is actually happenin', isn't it?"

He made some fucking embarrassing sound as Sam grabbed his thighs and pulled his ass down, off the edge of the hood and planted the end of his girth all slick and sticking to the crease of Dean's ass.

"Why d'you always gotta be so fuckin' rough, man?" Dean breathed out, back arching off her goddamn majesty as Sam took up his cock, pumping the weeping member a few times and Dean nearly curled in upon himself, eager and almost sensitive with want.

"Why do you gotta be such a stubborn little shit?" Sam asked as he leaned over and grabbed Dean's jacket, fingers pilfering through it before he pulled out the small bottle of lube.

Dean smirked as Sam turned back to him. He didn't bother asking his brother how he knew that was in there. Sam normally figured out all of his little secrets, no matter how well he tried to keep them - apparently - so he feigned expectation and let his thighs fall wider open.

"Put it in me, Sam, I want it," Dean said, practically fucking grinning. It was sex all together that made him like this, but just knowing how hard Sam got, it was doing a lot for his attempt to accept his feelings for his car.

"Tell me about her, Dean," Sam whispered huskily, mouthing the inside of Dean's thigh and making him shiver, his whole body quaking eagerly, snapping at the brush of lips and Dean's hands were in his brother's hair, grabbing him and placing his mouth over Dean's cock.

"You suck me off an' I'll tell you everythin' you want, Sammy." He probably didn't mean that.

He saw the younger Winchester's eyes darken at the demand, Sam's mind being made up before his goddamn eyes and he licked his lips, leaning in to do just that, lips parting, mouth widening-

It was impossible for either of them to miss the sudden growling of Bobby's truck pulling onto the property.

"Oh fuck," Dean breathed as Sam dropped his legs and he slipped off the hood of the Impala, his brother already pulling up his own pants, hiding behind the shape of the car as he laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _  
>    
>  [Bonus](http://carryonmywincestsounds.tumblr.com/private/41038576412/tumblr_mgg2q75l381ru2qqy)   
>    
>  _


	4. Chapter 4

It was getting harder to be ashamed of himself, now that Sam was making it a point to have Dean do things with his car that he’d never been comfortable with before. He'd never had her so often, so constant as of late, or had someone coach him while doing it - but Sam wouldn't let up or forget it for a second.

Sam knew him now, knew him _too_ well. Knew that looking into finding a better part for the Impala might as well've been like watching softcore porn for all it did to Dean. And then he'd move from his own chair and whisper things to the older Winchester.

"She wants it, Dean," Sam would say, "Wants you to fix her up nice and good." And he'd slide his hands down Dean's chest, "Let’s go see her, lets go give your baby some attention."

Their relationship had always been distant, shy - almost non-fucking-existent to tell the truth - before all of this had happened. But Dean had always been confused by it then, misunderstanding what he was supposed to do to show his affections to his baby. He’d been ashamed of it too, horribly ashamed and embarrassed, frustrated, because he wanted to adore her, wanted to love her. He wanted to be writhing in her, panting against the paint, gripping the leather, fucking the seats or something. He just really knew that he _wanted_ her.

Cleaning her or fixing her up always got some kind of thrill out of him, but he couldn’t trash her or flip the damned thing every time he needed an excuse to do either of those things. They just happened over time, and he’d taken the opportunities when they presented themselves. It left little space for growth between them, though, and always made him want her even more. Always unsatisfied, always too long without her.

But other than jacking off in the front seat while breathing in her leather and metal, he hadn’t really been able to find some _other_ way to relieve himself back then. It always had to be quick, barely noticeable by his brother.

Sam though, Sam was constantly putting dirty thoughts into his mind now, if only Dean had known then that his brother would be such a deviant. Once he’d cleaned his baby up and finished the paint job, and given her a good wash down, Dean couldn’t count on hand how many times Sam had bent him over her hood and fucked him raw, telling him to touch her, to press his cheek to the cold exterior, to plant quick, heated kisses along the new paint job. Or when Sam had sausage’d his dick between the younger Winchester’s palm and the surface of his baby’s trunk, son of a bitch, he couldn’t think about that feeling without soaking himself.

Dean hadn’t even thought of it before, but now he was doing it without his brother’s demand to see it happening. They obviously couldn’t do things like that as often as they had at Bobby’s, now that they were on the road and stationed at motels again, but his brother would do all kinds of things to make it easier for him.

They’d park somewhere secluded, off the beaten track, and relieve some stress for a good few hours. Or, when they were laying in bed, Sam would wake him up, saying things that twisted him up inside.

“Fuck her frame, Dean, feel her alive under you,” His younger brother would whisper in his ear, “Purring for you, listening to you whimpering inside of her. She’ll wait for you, she’s out there now, she’ll always be there waiting, wanting you to fuck her so hard that her entire body shivers for you.”

Every time Sam did that, Dean became a fucking fifteen year old boy again, crying, coming so hard he screamed and arched back against his brother, trembling and gasping and sticky with sweat.

Despite it having been his fear before, of Sam finding out, it’d managed to make their relationship become something more, something else entirely; stronger than it ever was before. More intimate than he could’ve imagined. He’d always thought they’d been far too close for comfort, far too intimate. He always thought that if their dad watched them close enough, he’d see what it’d progressed into, but now he wasn’t so sure if he’d even care. Sam knew him, Sam accepted him just the way he was, even if it was a bit fucked up. His brother made him feel _right_.

Which was why he was stuck where he was now, waiting on the second day of his brother’s outing with his baby. Sam had promised him something special, something worth the trip, but he didn’t even give Dean the slightest hint pertaining to what it might be. All he gave him was a text on the second day saying ‘ _pack our stuff and pay out the room, I’ve got plans for today and it doesn’t involve a motel_.’

The message caught him off guard, and was a bit confusing, considering Sam had never requested such a thing before, but Dean did as was requested, handing the key over to the guy at the front desk and sitting outside, sipping a beer as he sat on the sidewalk and waited.

His brother arrived not twenty minutes later, helping Dean pack their things into the trunk and keeping the driver’s seat, “Did you miss me?”

“I did,” Dean answered as Sam pulled out of the parking lot, “Are you gonna tell me about what your trip was for? Or am I just gonna have to risk guessin’ or never knowin’?”

“You’ll know soon enough,” Sam said as he sat back and smirked knowingly at Dean. It was that same look that drove Dean bat-shit crazy, and he swore his brother did it on purpose - the silent, smug ‘I know more than you and I’m keeping it to myself’ look.

Sam drove them out of the way and Dean started to get excited, he knew what was coming, they never went off the main road for any other reason than to get Dean off against his baby or something similar, and he'd been wanting her so bad since his brother had left - just being inside her was arousing, and he turned against the side of their bench seat, breathing her deep.

He looked at Sam with widening eyes and saw the smirk grow, which made his eyelids slit in suspicion, “What did you do?”

The younger Winchester just laughed and kept driving, staying silent until they’d pulled off into a secluded area. He parked the car and turned to Dean, whom felt nervous suddenly, “Remember our talk before, about how you could **actually** have sex with her?”

Dean raised a brow, “Uh, yeah... Fleshlight, right? That’s what you were goin’ on about before, why?”

“Come out this side,” Sam said and he climbed out of the driver’s side door.

Dean followed after in curious annoyance, standing on the grass and watching his brother close the door before pointing at something along her hindquarters and he paled, “Sam, what the hell his that?”

The younger Winchester put his hands out, one resting on Dean’s shoulder, “I took her out and got some... Some minor adjustments done to the frame.”

“You had my car torched?” Dean felt sick.

“Sort of, you can’t even really tell, but-Dean, calm down,” Sam’s hands were on either sides of his face, staring into his eyes as Dean **tried** to keep calm, even though he was burning up inside.

Sam carded his fingers through the older Winchester’s hair and kissed him, “She’s fine, okay? And trust me, you won’t mind, once you see what it’s for.”

Dean glared up at his brother, “I don’t really see you redeemin’ yourself from this, Sam. I trusted you. I trusted you to take care of my baby an' you... You **marred** her.”

“And now you’re gonna _**fuck** _ her, because of it,” Sam breathed against Dean’s ear and he swore it went straight down into the bones of his arms, flowing through his blood stream and filling his cock.

He looked up into his brother’s eyes as he finally put it together, “You had a **fleshlight** installed into the **side** of my **baby**?”

Sam’s hands were on his cock, rubbing the rude bulge in his jeans, and then Dean pushed passed him, moving to the little circular panel. It could’ve passed off as a gas tank door, but anyone knowing how a ‘67 Impala works would’ve known better.

He turned to Sam again, tentative, still angry, but so strangely aroused that it was almost stupid, “ _This_..?”

Sam was right there by him then, pressing their lips together, turning the older Winchester to face his car and undoing Dean’s jeans from behind with careful, sure movements that were all too familiar.

The older Winchester gasped as Sam yanked his jeans down somewhat gracelessly and knelt, lapping and sucking his swollen cock until it was slick and soaking and Dean’s legs were shaking because he'd never seen his brother so eager and obscene, “Sam–”

“Look out along her, Dean.”

He did so, cock growing harder still as he smoothed his right hand over her trunk, groaning desperately as Sam stood behind him and moved him forward. He started to look down, but his brother stopped him, keeping his chin forward and Dean pressed his lips against her back window frame, trembling as he heard Sam slide the small door open.

Dean could feel his brother’s hardness pressing against his backside, eager, but also patient, and then his eyes widened when Sam thrust against him, pushing Dean against the frame and the older Winchester damn near bit his tongue off as his cock was enveloped, tight in the chamber above her left, back wheel.

It wasn’t the same as it was with Sam, not in the slightest, _but how could she be?_

Still, he felt the uncontrollable twisting inside of him as Sam pulled him back and repeated the motion, panting in Dean’s ear until Dean was moving as well, slamming his hips into her and gasping as he clutched at her frame.

He kept going, kept thrusting into her, even as his brother pulled away and watched them, leaving it to Dean.

His heart was racing in his ears, hands shaking, a tears slipping down his cheek as she milked him, as his orgasm hit like a goddamn freighter. He choked on a breath of air, thrusts stammering and Sam moved to his side once more, combing his fingers through Dean’s hair and shushing him as the older Winchester sobbed.

He'd cried pretty much every fucking time with her, but it wasn't like this. It was always because of being ashamed of himself, or unsatisfied in so many ways. It had never been because he was **happy**.

Dean bent down to pull his jeans back up before turning into Sam and wrapping his arms around his brother.

“Thank you,” He muttered numbly against the collar of Sam’s shirt and buried his face in the warm skin of the younger Winchester’s neck. He was shaking, shaking like a leaf because of what his brother had finally given him.


End file.
